Note To Self

Pandave, remember this always - never live in a place where you might be snowed, rained or anything elsed in for days on end. You do not function too well without outside.

It really hit home last night when I made an awesomely bad joke and started laughing. And then I felt as though I would burst into hysterical tears if I didn't stop laughing soon. Yet, the laughter would not stop. Had I not had guests, I might have let go but how do you explain to people that you are okay while crying hysterically at the worst joke you have probably ever told? Well, now that I write it down, crying at a bad joke seems quite reasonable.

I digress. I just want to be out and about and unafraid to skip, hop jump. If this is anything, it is a supreme test in patience. The grey and damp weather doesn't help much either. Maybe if my toes didn't feel like ice blocks, I might not feel so squashed on the inside. But, enough of this nonsense, hidef is coming by to carry my laundry so I can take it to the laundromat. He will also take me to the post office so he can carry my package home for me.

But let me share cool news - my dressing came off and my scar was relieved. My mother said she was not happy but I think it looks really good. Not as intimidating as I might have imagined but it is about 4 inches long which, I would say, is not to be sniffed at should I have to assert some kind of street cred somewhere. Plus, I am standing up straight now, my mother informed me, and the weather forecast is talking sunshine in the near future.

Putting it all in perspective, anything that gets me excited about doing laundry can't be all bad, now can it? That said, I'm not making any plans to move to any extreme weather zone.

What The Doctor Ordered

Today I made it all the way down from the fourth floor of my walk-up and I made it outside into the sunshine.  How glorious that was - my small victory for the day.  Also during this time, I read about a certain young stoat whose life makes this last week seem like a stroll in the park.  I mean, people, when he gets cut up, he doesn't even have anyone to stitch him up again.  I doubt his scars will look anywhere as pretty as mine.

I haven't seen the scar yet - the doctor won't let me take the dressing off - but I do know that it will be rather intimidating should I ever end up in the slammer.  I think I could really grow to love it.  

It is just great to have a clear mind again - no more meds now - I can actually finish a sentence, or few.

They Saw, He'll Saw, I'll Soar!

Well, the doctor was wrong, kinda, but she was also right, kinda.  She was wrong, so she doesn't get the pleasure of cutting me open.  But she was kinda right so another doctor gets the pleasure.  Now he is intent of pushing me to start a new fashion trend - I'll have to learn to love my new scar.  It will be a symbol of strength, surivival and the power of the MRI.  I'm thinking that after all the jabbing and blood-taking and mumbled discussions that I have had to endure, a trend-worthy, don't-mess-with-me-in-prison scar is the least the medical profession can do for me.  The bonus?  I get to take a couple of weeks off work.  So I'm out for a couple of days but then, like a bad Terminator movie - I'll be back.